


The Thing

by drury



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Clary is grieving both the loss of a bf and a best friend, F/M, but they're still best friends, this mostly features romantic!climon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-29
Updated: 2017-07-29
Packaged: 2018-12-08 08:33:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11642820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drury/pseuds/drury
Summary: Because I'm weak for angst, this is a fic roughly set after season 2 (I guess?), where Simon dies and Clary grieves the loss of her boyfriend and best friend. (Also, the memory Clary has in the end is basically set as something that happened offscreen during 2x13, before Simon performs.)





	The Thing

**Author's Note:**

> Note: So I wasn't sure if I should tag it as this, but I understand why people might be triggered by this, so I figured I should at least mention it. Clary is definitely not in a good place mentally in this fic. She's very mentally ill+depressed and I just wanted to make it clear that she is not okay (due to the death of Simon). This is definitely not how one should healthily grieve/mourn a loved one and some of Clary's ways of coping are harmful to herself.

She's laying in bed when she remembers something brand new. 

Ever since Simon died, she's done The Thing over and over, like maybe it would make things better, stop the aching in her chest, so maybe, just maybe, she wouldn't miss him so much. It doesn't work the way she wants, but sometimes it helps her lose herself, kid herself into thinking he's still alive, a phone call away, just around the corner. And those moments were bliss, even if they were only moments.

Because the pain never stops, it hasn't since Luke told her they'd found his body, back when they told her things, back when they thought she could handle them and keep on going. Back, back, back.

She wanted to go back. She's almost become obsessed with what she could've done differently, things she could've said, scenarios where he wasn't really gone. It was all she thought about. This all being some crazy dream. That she wasn't ever a Shadowhunter, never had been, and any second now her mom would wake her up from this nightmare, this awful life, and Simon would be waiting for her right outside, in a world that didn't ruin people like him, and he'd ask her if she wanted to hang out today. That was her favorite dream to think about.

She'd lose herself in the fantasies, sometimes even convince herself maybe they were real. 

Luke comes to visit her every day, sitting right on the bed with her, sometimes talking to her in hushed whispers and lies about how it would be okay, sometimes not talking at all. Once he came over and all he said was, "Simon wouldn't want you to go crazy over losing him. He'd want you to stay Clary. He wanted so much for you. We all do.", before hugging her and quietly getting up to leave.

She has no idea how long it's been since Si...since he died, she doesn't go outside much anymore, just lays in her bed, curled up on one side, not giving a crap whether she's eaten or what she's wearing. Sometimes it helps to physically hold her stomach, almost like she's keeping herself from cracking open, from fully feeling it all. Laying still helped with the pain, too. She'd never thought mental pain could cripple her, until it did. She hardly ever leaves her bed.

She's not really sure when it stops becoming remembering and starts becoming The Thing, but it does, and then she can't stop. She never tells anyone else about The Thing, afraid they'll either think she's insane (and she was starting to think she was) or, even worse, she was afraid they might try and make her stop doing it. But a part of her, deep down, doesn't tell anyone because she wants to keep all of Simon to herself, to not let anyone else remember him the way she does, to not let them grieve him the way she does, to own all the pieces of him, in every way there was. She was selfish that way. 

The Thing was this, basically. She played every memory associated with Simon that she had in her head over and over, from every angle, and analyzed each and every one. Then she thought about what she would've, should've, or could've done differently. At first, she'd only do it when the pain was too unbearable, but then the pain was too unbearable all the time and it was almost all she did. She hadn't realized before just how many memories of Simon she had in her head, all from the years of friendship she'd taken for granted. And thinking about that made her feel like the air was being sucked right out of her lungs. 

Clary sometimes wondered if this is what it was like to go crazy. But it's not like she could be okay without Simon, so maybe she was just going to stay crazy for the rest of her life. 

This wasn't her in the beginning, not by a long shot. After he died, for a couple of weeks, she was actually a normal and functioning human being. Maybe it was because, back then, there was always this tiny part of her that believed Simon was still alive and okay and in this world, loving her. But she remembers the exact moment that that piece of her left for good, and it's her least favorite thing to think about.

She supposes, thinking back, that maybe she was in denial and that's why she'd been so, so okay before the tiny part of her that believed Simon was still with her left.

It had all started when Luke had begun cleaning out the boat basin, in an effort to give Simon's mom back all of his stuff. He'd stumbled across some of Clary's old clothes in there, some dresses and PJs and shirts and sweatpants, that had been from when Clary practically lived with Simon and changing at his place had been a normal occurrence, something as easy as breathing. So Luke had texted Clary to come get her stuff and Clary had reluctantly headed over to Simon's place for the first time since he died. 

And as she entered, she could almost feel him, smell him, because it was like Simon was everywhere and nowhere at once. For the first time since he died, her throat had felt heavy and then she'd felt the overwhelming need to wrap her hands around her stomach and lay on the floor and never get up, ever.

And then she saw his clothes, thrown all over the floor carelessly, probably by Luke. Simon always folded all his clothes neatly, he had since he'd been five years old and he'd met Clary on the first day of school, walking right up to her, and sticking his little hand out to shake hers. His first ever words to her were, "Hey, I'm Simon. And you're going to remember me." 

And she did. 

And then she was picking up one of his sweatshirts and pressing it to her face, his scent calming her, but not for long. Because then she'd thought about how his scent was on each and every one of his clothes, but Simon's scent would never be on Simon himself again. And it's not like she'd never seen his clothes before, (hell, she'd even worn them at one point), but there was something so final about thinking about how the clothes had no owner now, never would again.

And then she turned her face to the left a bit, and she saw his bed. And she's not a perv, she promises, but in that moment, she didn't think about having sex with him or getting naked in that bed, which she had. She'd thought about laying with him in it, the two of them in their own little cocoon, sometimes they'd talk, sometimes they'd play board games, but it didn't really matter what they did, only that they were together. 

She remembered getting drinks with him, holding hands with him when no one else could see, kissing when no one was watching or when everyone was. She remembered twining their hands and legs in her sleep, and he'd never pushed her away, only pulled her closer and closer.....

And then she's biting back a scream because Simon is dead and nothing is ever going to be the same because— Oh God oh God oh God— Simon is dead. And his stuff was in Luke's truck and she was alone in that goddamn boat basin and then her knees were buckling because she couldn't do it anymore. 

And then she was on the floor, on her knees, curling in on herself, and she felt so gutted and breathless and alone and also alone. And it hit her that he's really, really gone, and then she was screaming at the top of her lungs because nothing was ever going to be okay again. And the door to the boat basin slide open after a while, but she didn't even notice and someone— she didn't care who— was running towards her and wrapping his arms around her, and she thought maybe it was Luke, but she couldn't hear anything, she was too busy screaming, and all that mattered was that the person hugging her....it wasn't Simon, it wasn't Simon, it wasn't Simon. It's not her favorite thing to think about, to say the least.

The pain's excruciating and everywhere, all the damn time. She never knew that Simon lived everywhere inside her, that he'd been such a huge part of her, that she'd have no idea who the hell she was if he died, she hadn't known any of it. Not until he was dead and gone and all Clary could do about it was nothing.

She's laying in bed doing The Thing when she remembers something brand new.

She doesn't remember new things too often anymore. She's already played all of the conversations they've had (that she remembers) over and over. They're always on a constant loop in her head. 

Maybe she should be "healing", like Izzy always says when she fights with Jace and the others about whether it's "healthy" for Clary to lay in a bed all day and hardly ever speak. But a part of her already feels dead and gone. 

Or maybe she should be "moving on" like Jace always calmly argues back to Izzy and the others. It has been months, after all. Maybe she should be happy. Get a normal life, a normal love life, a new best friend. Or maybe she should bury herself in work. 

But sometimes the idea of walking around and talking to people and pretending to be happy makes her physically want to throw up, so maybe it's better she's not doing the stuff she maybe should be doing. 

The times that make her feel better are when Izzy visits and brings her food she doesn't eat and hugs her and tells her it's "okay not to be in a good place mentally" and that she "misses Simon everyday, too."

But the way Clary had loved him was different then the way anyone else had. Clary had loved Simon selfishly. Simon had loved Clary selflessly, and that divide? There was no making up for it and no use trying to. 

Izzy understands a little. No one understands a lot, but Clary accepted that a very long time ago. 

Most of the time, when they all came to visit the bed she basically lived in, she ignored them, but they usually just came to fight about her in front of her and Clary could zone them all right out. She barely ever heard a word they said, and when she did, she felt like she was underwater, immune to voices and "it's okay"s. 

In a way, she felt like nothing could touch her ever again, not since Simon had died the most brutal death possible. And God, he deserves better, he deserves so much better, in fact, that it made her want to scream. Poor, sweet, innocent, talkative Simon was dead and it was on her, it was all on her.

No, she hadn't killed him herself, but she'd dragged him into this awful, awful world where people died and then Simon had died. And he'd been her light. She had no light left. She had nothing left to give to a world that ruined people like Simon. A world that took Simon from her and never gave him back. 

She knew what it looked like. She knew Izzy and Luke were the only she wasn't currently in a mental institution. And she thought maybe she should be in one. But she just couldn't stop being so "crazy" because that felt like maybe she had to let go of Simon and never. Never would she ever do that.

And then she remembers something brand new and the memory is just hers and just his and it's the only good thing she's got left.

_"Hey, Clary," he'd said softly, brushing his lips across her forehead to wake her up. It was before they broke up, before everything turned upside down, when she'd set up that gig for him at the Hunter's Moon._

_"Clary, babe, I'm leaving, do you wanna come with?" he'd said soothingly, flopping down on the bed next to her and twining their fingers together absentmindedly. They were in the boat basin and, judging from the sunlight pouring in from Simon's window, she'd fallen asleep in the middle of the day._

_Clary shook the sleep out of her eyes and stretched. "Simon, hell yes, I am coming! My boyfriend's about to get super famous and kick some ass," she'd beamed, wiggling her eyebrows._

_Simon rolled his eyes, which earned him a hard shove from Clary._

_"Oh!" Clary grinned, remembering something, and scrambling out of bed and to a shelf, retrieving Simon's present, which she'd been hiding for days."I almost forgot. I got you something, but you need to promise not to open it until after you play."_

_She handed him the wrapped present and he rolled his eyes again, ripping the wrapping paper off the present in record time._

_Clary snorted, glaring at Simon playfully. "Or, now's good."_

_Simon studied the present, seven new guitar pics that Clary had spent a fortune on, and quickly wrapped her into a tight hug that cut off her circulation._

_"Simon....can't....breathe," she wheezed, tapping his arm. He reluctantly let go and she put her hands on his shoulders._

_"Simon, I know you're nervous about the gig, but you are going to crush it, okay? And I am so proud of you." It was the last sentence that made Simon's entire face light up._

_Simon beamed, leaning forward to kiss her quickly. "I love you so much," he made direct eye contact with her, to show her he meant it, squeezing her tiny hands in his warm palms._

_"I love you, too, Si!" she exclaimed, reaching her hand out and crouching down to grab her purse off of the floor, so they could leave for Simon's gig, which they were already six minutes late to. ___

__And then the memory is gone and she's getting out of bed and dressed and eating like the functional human being that she's forgotten Simon needs her to be. He wanted so much for her because he loved her. He wanted so much more for her then her laying in a bed, crying over him. Things weren't going to be easy, but she was going to keep breathing and eating and existing and loving. And trying to be better. For Simon._ _


End file.
